Luck of the Hobbit
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Once, at the conclusion of every year, John turns back into his hobbit form for a week. Usually during this time he stays hidden, but this year he is living with Sherlock Holmes. He is hoping to be able to hide this change from Sherlock, but what happens when he discovers that Sherlock is also harboring a secret of his own that could jeopardize their friendship?
1. Sock Thief

**AN: The following chapter is short because it's a tester. If you feel I should continue, please let me know. Please enjoy and thanks for reading. :) **

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Chapter 1

John triple checked the list that he had made for himself. He didn't know why he always got so rattled this time of the year. It was just for a week and then it was over with. He moved his hand towards his open suitcase on the bed and started to rifle through the clothing there one last time.

"Alright...shirts, check...trousers, check...seven pairs of socks, one...two...three...four...five...six...wait, where's the seventh pair?"

He let out a sigh of exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This time last year, he hadn't had this problem. This time last year, he had been living alone. This time last year, he didn't have to deal with high functioning sociopath flatmates who stole your socks for the purpose of an experiment.

"Sherlock!" said John as he threw his check list down beside the suitcase and marched back out into the other room. "What did you do with my socks?"

Sherlock was sitting in his chair as John barged into the room. Sherlock's violin lay on his lap as he gave him a small smirk.

"What are you talking about, John?"

John let out another sigh as he threw his hands up into the air.

"I need seven pairs of socks for my trip and I only have six."

"And that's my problem because?..." asked Sherlock, waiting to catch John's drift.

"What did you do with my socks? I know their disappearance was your doing."

Sherlock placed a hand to his chest and pretended to look offended.

"Has our friendship stooped to such a low level that you have to accuse me of being a sock thief?"

"Ha, ha, Sherlock. You're a card," said John sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and marched over to pace in front of the windows.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and brought the violin into position. He was just about to bring his bow across the strings when John walked over and yanked the bow from his fingers.

"What on earth was that for?..." asked Sherlock as he looked up at John's flustered face, bewildered.

"You will get your bow back as soon as you tell me where my pair of socks are…" said John in a deceptively calm tone of voice.

Sherlock let out a sigh through his nose as he stood up.

"You're being quite a child about this whole mess, John, but if you must know, your socks are in the kitchen."

"Thank you…" said John.

Sherlock leaned forward to try to reclaim his bow, but John held it out of reach.

"I'm keeping this for insurance purposes," said John as he held the bow close to his chest and walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock closed his eyes as John disappeared into the kitchen and slowly started to count to ten. He knew it wouldn't take that long for John to explode in anger, but he was giving him a considerable window just incase.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! What the…"

"It's just a pair of socks, John," said Sherlock as he opened his eyes again. "There really isn't a need to get so worked up over this."

John marched back into the room then; Sherlock's bow in one hand and his soiled socks in the other.

"What did you even do to them?"

"I used them to scrub out some of my beakers. Mrs. Hudson said I needed to clean and I couldn't find any rags lying about so…"

"So you used _my _socks?! Why didn't you use a pair of your own?"

"Because I need them," said Sherlock matter-of-factly.

"Why I…" John's face grew redder as he placed the bow gently aside before hucking the soiled socks at Sherlock, hitting him in the face.

Sherlock spluttered for a second as he tried to get the foul socks off his face. When he finally managed to, all he saw was John's back as he briskly walked back into his bedroom.

"You don't even know what kind of substances I scrubbed with these socks! You could have just contaminated us both!"

"Good! It'll teach you a lesson then, won't it?" hollered John in response as he walked over to the dresser drawers in his room to see if he could find another pair of socks that he wouldn't mind taking with him. He found a pair of Christmas socks buried at the bottom of his drawer with little elves in green hats on it and sighed. These would have to do. Why couldn't Sherlock have used these in his experiment?

"No matter," said John out loud to himself as he walked over to his suitcase with his Christmas socks and packed them into it. "Tomorrow, you'll be on a flight out of here for a week."

He let out a small grimace of pain as he felt a shot run through his body. It was the tell tale signs of the changes to come. He sighed with exasperation as he tried to shut the lid of his suitcase. This wouldn't be such a problem to hide if his ancestors hadn't been so careless. They had been careless enough to reveal themselves to some guy named Tolkien who wrote down everything they told him. They even went so far as to take him to their native country (which was no more now since they had taken one too many people through it). John wished that he hadn't been born with this burden, but he suppose it could be worse. All he had to do was go away for a week while he was in his changed form and then come back home. How hard could that be?


	2. Change of Plans

Chapter 2

"No. There's no bloody way. Check the flight schedules again!" demanded John as he reached up a hand to his head to thread in his hair and tug slightly.

"John, I'm staring at the schedule right now and nothing has changed," said Sherlock. "Now calm down."

"Refresh the page then!" said John.

Sherlock sighed, but did as John asked and refreshed the page to show the same fruitless results as before.

"John, you're just going to have to face the fact that you aren't leaving London on your trip today. You'll just have to reschedule. It's snowing far too hard out."

John marched over to the window and threw back the curtain to start cursing at the snow that was clinging and melting on the window pane during its descent. Sherlock chuckled as he stood from his chair.

"Why are you so adamant on leaving today?" asked Sherlock.

"Because...because I…" John's mind reeled as he tried to think of an adequate excuse. "Because I need a change of scenery."

"This life has become too dull for you then, has it?"

"Suppose you could say that," said John whose eyes never left the window or the weather outside.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen with a small frown of his own on his face. He wasn't entirely happy about the situation either. When he heard that John had been going away on vacation for a week, on the week that he needed it most even, he was over the moon. During the last week of the year, he underwent a change of sorts and he didn't want John to be a witness to it. He had finally managed to make a friend and he knew that if John knew the truth, he might lose his only friend. He would just have to figure out a way to hide this change from John. After all, it was only for a week. It couldn't be that hard.

"Would you like some tea, John, while you sulk like a child?" asked Sherlock as he walked over to the stove.

"Yeah, sure, whatever…"

Sherlock smirked, shaking his head as he dug out a kettle to prepare the tea. The change started today at some point. Sherlock would have to figure out a game plan soon or he would be screwed. Sherlock placed the kettle on the burner and reached to turn a knob when a spark of fire flew from his hand to light the burner for him. He bit his lip hard. The change was already starting.

Meanwhile in the living room, John stood at the window to glare at the snow for a minute more before drawing the curtains again. It was no use. No matter how long he stood at the window and glared out at the snow, it wouldn't change the fact that all flights were grounded for the day. This was just completely unbelievable. He was going to start changing at some point during the day and before he did so, he would have to hide from Sherlock. He couldn't let Sherlock know what had overcome him. He had to think of some sort of plan and fast.

As he turned to walk away from the window and towards his seat, he let out a small hiss of pain. He quickly sunk into his chair as the pain only continued in his chest. No. This couldn't be happening yet. He had to think of something. He flicked his eyes about the room in a wild manner and noticed a half full glass of water on the dresser near him. He picked up the glass and turned it upside down onto his shirt to cause it to become all wet. He sprung up from the chair and immediately started to walk as fast as he could toward his room.

"Hold off on the tea for me, Sherlock. I just dumped water on my shirt…"

"Hold off on the tea? Won't it only take you a second to change your shirt?" asked Sherlock.

"Yes, but…" _Come on, Watson. Think!_ "I...I spilled the water on my shirt because my hands were shaky. I think I might be coming down with a cold."

John quickly entered his room and shut the door behind him. He locked it for good measure, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't take a shut door as an answer and try to enter John's room to question him further. Sure enough, the door knob started to rattle from the other side of the door.

"John, open this door…" said Sherlock as he stood on the other side of the door, even though he was actually quite pleased with this sudden development. As he kept his hand on the door knob, he saw scales start to appear on his arm and quickly tugged the sleeve of his shirt down with his free hand to conceal it.

"No, Sherlock. I can't open the door…" said John as he backed up from the door and took a seat on his bed. He could feel himself begin to get a bit shorter as he slowly started to change into his hobbit form. "It's quite contagious and I don't want you to catch it…"

John hated lying to Sherlock, but the alternative was no longer an option now. He had to do this to protect Sherlock from the truth.

"Fine. I'll leave you be then," said Sherlock as he felt his other arm start to become overcome by scales. He slowly let go of the door knob to John's room and walked over to his room after removing the kettle from the stove top. He could feel the change start to take over him and he shut his bedroom door. He locked it for good measure and then pressed his back against the door. He cast his eyes up to look at himself in the mirror that hung on the door of his open wardrobe. He saw that his usually pale face had started to become colored by flecks of red and his eyes were starting to take on a golden color. Feeling overheated, he stripped off his shirt and threw it onto the bed. He looked down at his chest to see the scales start appearing there. He sighed. This change back to his dragon form was inevitable. He was just lucky that his flatmate was normal and in the dark about this.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," said Sherlock as he allowed himself to sink to the floor as leathery wings started to protrude out of his back. "John could be a hobbit...They are natural enemies of dragons after all. At least with John holed up with an illness, he'll never know the truth about me…"


	3. The Unspoken Golden Rule

Chapter 3

John was currently halfway under his bed as he rummaged his room for what felt like the hundredth time. How could he have possibly overlooked the fact of making sure he had a secret food storage in case something in his plan backfired? He growled a bit with annoyance as he gave up his fruitless search under the bed and sat back on his haunches. This was day one of his transformation back into a hobbit, and so far all he knew was that he was starving.

He stood back up slowly and noted the height difference as he looked at his face in the mirror. Aside from the hair and the height, he looked relatively the same. He shivered a bit involuntarily and noticed his breath billow out in front of him. Had they lost electricity? It had been like an icebox in the flat for the past twelve hours. John sighed and bit his lower lip. Maybe if he slipped on a hoodie and snuck out to the fridge and back again, Sherlock would never be the wiser about his new condition.

"No...no, that's stupid…" John muttered out loud to himself. "He's a high functioning sociopath. He's going to know…"

His stomach rumbled rather loudly one last time and he sighed. Fine. He'd go get some food or the next six days would be the worse he had ever endured.

He walked over to his closet and started to rifle through it for a hoodie. As he did so, he cast a look down at his feet. If he went out to go get food, he'd have to put socks over his feet. They were practically all covered in hair. He groaned as he thought about having to put on socks. It made him overheated and they got sweaty and itchy fast. He didn't know why he insisted on packing socks every year when he left. He always stayed barefoot the entire time that he was away. Maybe it was just the principle of the thing.

He finally found a hoodie and slipped it on before deciding at the last minute to slide on socks over his feet after all. He couldn't risk Sherlock finding out at all. He shuffled over to the door after pulling the hood up and took a deep breath. He placed his hand over the door knob and tried to calm his breathing before turning the knob to push open the door slightly.

As soon as he placed a foot outside his room, he shivered even more. It seemed to be even colder at here as weird as that sounded. John scowled harder and tried to ignore the cold as he made his way towards the fridge. He threw the door open and ran his tongue eagerly across his lips. At least the food was stocked with food for once. In fact, there were numerous packages of meat. He rose a slight brow at this. Since when was Sherlock so hungry? He just shrugged and grabbed the end of his hoodie to make a small cradle out of it in order to carry as much food as he could back to his food. As he was shoving food and bottles of water into his hoodie, he thought about how he should stock up on more non-perishables than anything. He didn't want to make any more trips out of the safety of his room this week than necessary.

As he threw open the cupboards and started to rifle through them, he kept cramming his hoodie as full as he could with food.

"What would really be magnificent is if there was a stash of cheese spray up here…" muttered John to himself as he kept up his rifling.

John didn't know why, but hobbits apparently had an extreme craving for cheese spray during the change. He didn't understand it, but he didn't fight it either. If he had been able to get away to his vacation destination, he would have been golden because he made sure the place was stocked full of cheese spray. John moved aside a row of boxes in the cupboard and gasped in shock. Staring him right in the face was an entire shelf of cheese spray.

"Why do we have so much stocked up here?..." muttered John to himself before stashing as many bottles as he could into his hoodie. "Well, I won't complain...if it's for an experiment of Sherlock's, I'll get him some more later…"

After John had stuffed his hoodie full of food, he started to make his way back to his bedroom. As he carried his bundle to his bedroom, he stopped a few feet away from his door. He turned his head to look down the hall to see Sherlock's bedroom door closed too. He hadn't heard much activity from Sherlock recently. John stood frozen for a second; concern for his friend's well being momentarily overtaking his need to hide his secret. He forced himself to stop though and turned back to go into his room. He had to hide his secret. There was no other option for him. He would just have to hope that Sherlock was okay and the heat turned back on soon or there would be problems. Entering the room with his food stash, he shut and locked the door to enjoy his feast.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes and watched his reflection in the mirror. He had fallen asleep curled into a ball against his bedroom door. His tail was currently wrapped around him and his wings lay limp against his back like a blanket. Looking around his room, he let out a small sigh. At least Mrs. Hudson had done all that he had asked of her. He had told her previous to this week to not disturb him and to make sure to turn off the heat for a week. She had thought that he was insane, but had done what he had asked of her.

He rose from his position slowly and allowed himself to unfurl his wings for a second in order to stretch. As he stretched, his stomach rumbled. He was very hungry because he was a dragon after all. He detested how much he needed to eat while he was in dragon form, which is why he avoided eating for days on end when he was a human, but he knew he needed to eat something now in order to survive.

He made his way towards the door and wrapped one of his taloned hands around the doorknob to peek out the door. His golden eyes swept the interior of the flat and as soon as he deemed it was safe, he crept out from hiding to move towards the kitchen. He was just lucky that he could manage the size of the dragon he was when he changed. If he couldn't, he wouldn't have the luxury of hiding like a hermit in his flat for a week.

As soon as he made it to the fridge, he pawed it open and dug out a package of meat there and brought it to the floor. His stomach rumbled even louder as soon as he had removed the meat from its icy chamber. His nose was sensitive in this state so he could get hungry much easier now. While he was in the fridge, he also dislodged some bottles of water to take with him to drink. He moved away from the fridge and bounced up onto his hind legs to get to the cupboards. He was after one additional item to make his feast perfect. That item was one of the most craved foods of dragons. That item was cheese spray.

When Sherlock got to the place where he had placed the cheese spray storage, he noticed that a substantial amount of the cheese spray was missing. He was shocked. Who else could have touched his sacred storage? Who else besides….

"John! Did you take my cheese spray?"

John had his mouth filled with cheese spray when he heard Sherlock's sharp voice sound out suddenly throughout the flat. He jumped slightly in his crisscrossed position on his bed and shouted back the best he could around a mouthful of cheese.

"Ro whaz iff ah kid?"

Sherlock shook his head as he translated the gibberish from outside John's room.

"That's mine…"

"I'll buy you more…" said John after he had finally managed to swallow the cheese that had been in his mouth.

"I need it _now_…"

"Well, so do I…"

"I thought you were sick."

"I got hungry," said John wondering why Sherlock seemed so grouchy about cheese spray.

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and confiscated a good majority of the stash from the cupboard. He'd have to guard the stash now. He left two or three bottles behind and managed to gather up the rest to take with him back to his room.

"Don't touch my cheese spray."

"Like I said, I'll buy you more."

"Just...just forget it, John."

He started to nose his meat and cheese back towards his room, shaking his head as he did so. He didn't understand John sometimes. Who knew he would get a craving for cheese spray when he did too? Well, no matter. At least John hadn't seen him. He re-entered his room with his stash and shut the door. After locking it behind him, he settled down to begin eating. If John knew the truth about him, he would know to never get between him and his cheese spray when he was in dragon form. It was one of the unspoken golden rules.


	4. Warming Up

**AN: Sorry that this chapter took so long to post! I hope that it was worth the wait! Please let me know what you think and thank you for continuing to read this story. It's very fun to write! :) **

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Chapter 4

It was getting cold.

So very cold.

John sat on the bed; his knees tucked up under his chin and at least five blankets wrapped about him. Why did it have to be so cold in the flat? John liked having the heat on. Hobbits had a body temperature that was typically lower than human's body temperature so when it was cold for a human, it was frigid for a hobbit. He clenched his teeth together and started to rock himself back and forth slowly in hope that any type of movement, even the smallest one, would help warm him up.

"Why does Sherlock even need the bloody heat off? If it's for one of his convoluted experiments, I'm going to turn it up…"

He tried to shift in the bed to roll out of it. As soon as he did though, he felt the cold air nip at his body again, sending a shiver shooting down his spine. No. No maybe it was safer here. Maybe it was just safer to stay here in his little pocket of warmth than to try to get up to seek more. Like it would have been safer for him to stay in the Shire instead of going to try to face Smaug. Even though they had been triumphant in the end, it had still scared the life out of him. He vowed that one adventure was enough to last a lifetime.

Yet, in coming to London to try to escape the Shire and live a peaceful life, he had only found himself going on more adventures. He tried to rationalize it by telling himself that these adventures were different; that he didn't have to face any dragons and that nothing could be worse than that. He told himself that Smaug was the worse enemy that he could possibly ever face and Smaug had been killed. Smaug was no longer a threat to him.

As another chill rushed down his spine, he finally made up his mind. He had to go talk to Sherlock and convince him to turn up the heat. He knew that only his word would be able to sway Mrs. Hudson to turn it back on, especially since he didn't want to be seen by anyone. He moaned slightly as he rose to his feet. He shuffled awkwardly towards the door; the blankets all still wrapped about his shoulders. He was so bulky with the blankets on that he had to practically waddle to the door.

Once he was in the hallway, he continued his waddling pursuit down to Sherlock's room. As he stood in front of Sherlock's door, he felt as if he could feel heat just wafting from Sherlock's room.

"No, that can't be possible…" he muttered to himself. "You're hallucinating...the cold is freezing your mind."

He felt himself slowly start to go light-headed; the hallway around him spinning in slow, lazy circles. He closed his eyes for a second to try to get the sensation to depart from him before opening his eyes to reach out a shivering knuckle towards Sherlock's bedroom door.

He had barely rapped on the door when he found himself falling to his knees in his cocoon of blankets. He fell quite loudly to the floor and moaned at the force of the fall. He laid on his side on the ground, shivering terribly; his teeth chattering. He curled in upon himself, trying to conserve as much heat as possible.

"Sh-Sherlock…" He whispered; his lips blue.

He let out a soft sigh then as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he passed out right before Sherlock's bedroom door creaked open a fraction of an inch so Sherlock could peer outside into the hallway.

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Sherlock had been in a ball on the floor, trying in vain to sleep away the boring day, when he thought he could register the footsteps in the hallway. His heart sunk then. What if it was John? He couldn't see him in dragon form. He'd be afraid of him for the rest of his life, but what if something was wrong? Sherlock looked at his reflection in the mirror; his golden eyes staring back at him. He knew what he had to do.

Slowly standing to his feet, he lumbered towards the bedroom door. Right before he reached it, he heard a loud thumb from the hallway. He reached out a taloned hand to wrap around the doorknob and pulled it open slowly. What he saw in the hallway had him widening his golden eyes in surprise.

Lying mere feet away from him was a shivering, unconscious hobbit.

A hobbit.

He swallowed hard as he slowly opened the door more; his heart pounding a million miles an hour in his chest. Why did it feel like he knew this hobbit? He slowly stepped out into the hallway and bent his head closer to the passed out hobbit to examine his features. That was when he managed to place him. This hobbit was Bilbo Baggins; the same hobbit that had tried to steal the arkenstone from him. However, not only was this a hobbit that he had seen before, but it was also John Watson, his flatmate. His features weren't completely different, especially in the face. He was honestly surprised that he hadn't made the connection before.

He should be weary of him. He knew it. He was only here to hurt him in some way his dragon mind told him. He growled lowly at himself, shaking his head. No. No, the situation was different now. He wasn't an enemy this time and he couldn't let him freeze to death like he was at this rate.

He gently walked over to him and laid down on the ground beside him, curling himself around John and his messy blanket cocoon. He used one of his leathery red wings like a blanket and placed it over John to try to use his body heat to warm him. He knew that when he awoke that he would freak out; beat him and run for the hills, but he couldn't let his one and only friend freeze to death. Hobbit or not.

So, there he lay in the hallway of 221B Baker Street, a once terrifying dragon trying to warm a hobbit up to save his life. A hobbit that, in human form, had saved his own by being his friend.


	5. Hot and Cold

**AN: Sorry the update took so long! I will try to get better at updating since I'm on vacation now, but I can unfortunately make no promises because things could pop up. Hopefully you enjoy this update. Please let me know what you think. :) **

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Chapter 5

"_Where am I? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"_

_The icy wind whipped across Bilbo's face, causing locks of his hair to slap him above the forehead. Bilbo cast his gray blue eyes down to the cold snow that was encrusting his feet, using the power of white to turn his own feet red as blood and then ever slowly to black. Bilbo wiggled his toes in an attempt to keep them from going numb, but could already begin to feel the sharp tingles of pain that accompanied frost bite. _

_Bilbo felt as if the tears welling in his eyes currently were beginning to freeze in place. The familiar hills of his home were swept away from his vision once more as everything was turned white by the fiercely blowing wind. Bilbo had no idea where he was. All he knew for certain was that he couldn't find his way home. _

_He sank down onto his knees in the snow, slowly beginning to submit his being to the cold. The knees of his tan trousers immediately became soaked, but Bilbo had no more strength left to shiver. He slowly moved to lay down on his side as if the world around him was beginning to move in slow motion. He wrapped his quaking hands about his person to vainly attempt to warm himself up. His maroon jacket was already stained a darker color and provided no extra warmth from the storm. _

"_Help…" His blue lips whispered as he felt the strength ebbing out of his body; his eyelids slowly beginning to shut, blurring the white world about him. _

_As his eyes shut, turning his white world black, he felt a new feeling overcome his body; a feeling of warmth. His fogged up mind was puzzled by that, but he was too weak to react. It felt as if the snow that surrounded his body in a white tomb was slowly beginning to disappear beneath him. He used the remaining strength he had to curl into the warmth. His mind was too far gone from the cold to worry about where the warmth may be coming from. He needed the warmth right now and he was going to do whatever it took to get that warmth, even if it meant he might be surrendering himself to death. _

* * *

Sherlock looked down at John under his wings as his face contorted slightly in a grimace. He was still not use to seeing his best friend as a hobbit, but he was feeling relief that he had chosen to do what was right despite any consequences that may come from it. Sherlock fanned his wing a bit longer to make sure it covered John's body like a big warm comforter. As he did so, he finally saw the faintest hint of movement going on beneath John's eyelid.

"John…" His brusque voice said; his voice much more gravelly than before due to the form that he was now in.

Hearing his name, he allowed a soft moan to pass his lips. Movement beneath his eyelids became more frequent until he eventually opened his eyes and turned them to look about him. They were still blurry from the reaches of his cold slumber and he blinked them rapidly in an attempt to make things look clearer. Sherlock tensed slightly and slowly started to retract his wing, ready himself for what reaction was no doubt to come.

John slowly sat up and turned to look at Sherlock behind him. As his eyes registered the fact that he was slumped up against a red dragon with golden eyes, his own grew wider and he immediately started to shake again. It wasn't simply bad that a hobbit had been ensnared in the clutch of a dragon, but it was ten times worse because he knew this dragon. This was the most feared dragon of them all. This was Smaug. He had had faced Smaug himself once, and it had not ended well. Not ended well at all. He had thought he'd be safe though. He had thought Smaug was dead. Smaug must no doubt be here to take revenge against him.

"No...no, stay back. Please don't come any closer to me…" He stammered as he quickly rose to his feet, noting how sweaty the blankets about him had become. He quickly shouldered them to the floor and turned to run down the hall, only to slip on the edge of one of the discarded blankets and fall flat on his stomach.

"I will not hurt you…" he said slowly, looking at his scared friend with a sad smile. John didn't even know the truth.

"I...I thought you were dead…" He said. "I saw you die...from a distance of course, but everyone said you were dead...How are you alive?..."

Sherlock shook his head sadly. This was like the time that he had faked his death by falling from St. Bart's. Once again, his best friend was shocked by the fact that he was alive. If he could, he'd change his form to show John the familiar face that he had finally grown to know once more; finally grown to forgive and become friends with again.

"John Watson…" he said slowly. "Of all people, you should know that I'm the modern day Houdini when it comes to faking my death…"

"H-How do you know my name?..." He asked. "To you, I should be Bilbo...No, no...you've been following me. You followed me to this world and to my new life. You are here to enact your revenge on me, aren't you?..."

"John, calm down…" Sherlock took a deep breath before lying back down as a red mass on the floor, folding his wings up against him to conveying himself as unthreatening as possible. "I too have come to this world to start a new life, especially since I'm dead to the world that I left behind."

John was slowly rising to his feet once more, standing a few feet away with his chest heaving heavily as he tried to catch the breath that had fled him in his panic.

"What are you talking about?..."

"You're a smart man, John. You know what I'm saying…"

John's eyes stared at the dragon before him, finally allowing his terror filled eyes to lock with the sad eyes of the dragon. His jaw dropped slowly as he began to take small steps backwards.

"No...no. You're lying. You have Sherlock imprisoned somewhere. There is no way you're him…"

John wasn't looking where he was going as he backed up and ended up backing up into a wall. That caused Sherlock to let out a low rumble of laughter then. He outstretched a giant scaly hand towards him, lying it palm upwards as an invitation for John to come closer.

"I'm not lying to you, John. Whether you believe it or not, I'm…"

"No. Don't say it. Just leave me alone. I've done nothing to you."

John turned then as sunlight started to slither in underneath the drawn curtained windows. Sherlock frowned sadly and slowly started to rise to his feet.

"John,...stop…"

John froze in the doorway to his bedroom to give a fleeting look back at the dragon that was now standing on his feet and imploring him to stay.

"I don't want to see you. Just leave me be."

With that, John shut his bedroom door and locked it shut behind him. He knew that was a vain attempt in trying to keep out a dragon. He could burn down the door if he wanted to, but he needed to do all he could to keep the dragon away for his own peace of mind. He was too filled with fear to realize that the dragon had saved his life in warming him up. He was too filled with fear to realize that that dragon had been speaking the truth; that he was really Sherlock Holmes. All his mind could focus on was the fact that the dragon that he had thought was dead for so long, was actually alive. The momentary warmth that had come upon his body was slowly giving in to the cold again, matching the icy nature of his thoughts about the dragon on the other side of the door.


	6. Facing Your Fears

Chapter 6

Sherlock stared at the door in front of him. It hadn't budged in hours. Letting out a small sigh that brushed against the surface of the door, he curled up on his side into a ball. He kept re-running what had happened with John in his head, trying to vainly make sense of it. There were two things of which he was absolutely certain though. John remembered his dragon form, and he was fearfully afraid of him.

"John," he said again, hoping that this time he might get a better form of response aside from the muted 'Go aways'.

He perked his ears up for a second when he heard shuffling behind the door. The shuffling ended up not amounting to anything though, and Sherlock laid his head back down in discouragement. His stomach rumbled slightly as he lay outside John's room, but he didn't dare move to go eat. He wanted to be here when John was ready to open the door. He wanted to show him that he had no reason to fear anymore; that he had tamed the monster he was so afraid of. Sherlock knew that all John had to really do to get past this fear that was crippling him was to admit to himself that his biggest enemy at the moment was himself.

* * *

John sat in a ball on his bed, staring at the closed bedroom door. He knew that hiding in his room wouldn't solve anything, but he didn't have the strength nor the heart to open the door and face the monster that he saw. He kept internally chiding himself, wondering why he hadn't noticed this before. He didn't understand how he could get so close to someone, become their best friend even, and not know this. Not that Sherlock knew his secret either. Sherlock honestly seemed quite startled when he learned it.

"You can't stay in there forever, John," came Sherlock's voice, sounding sad and hollow and all too dragon like.

"Go away," said John in a quivering voice, acting like a rebellious child.

"John, please."

"No. I won't. You're just trying to coax me out to hurt me."

Silence invaded the air again then and John let out a dignified humph as he tucked his knees up more under his chin. There was no way he was going to open that door and step into a trap of the dragon's devices.

As time continued to creep by, interrupted on occasion by Sherlock, John became increasingly hungrier. Sighing, he got up from his position on the bed and got up to go towards the cans of cheese spray that littered the dresser. On his way over to the dresser, he had to pause to arch his back. He was cramped from sitting in a ball for so long. When he reached the dresser, he reached out a hand to grab the bottles of cheese spray, noting by how light they were that they were empty.

"Empty?..." He said, quirking a small brow in confusion. He hadn't realized that he had already consumed the entire contents of all of the bottles.

His stomach growled loudly once more after he had made certain that all of the cheese cans were empty by pressing down on their nozzles and spraying empty air down at his fingers. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he threw the cans aside and looked towards his closet. He chewed his lower lip as he allowed his mind to start wandering. Maybe it would be safe to go out and see Sherlock if he was better prepared. Before he could think to change his mind, John walked towards the closet and slipped inside, starting to put together his plan.

* * *

"John Watson, I didn't know you could be so bloody stubborn…" muttered Sherlock as he idly traced a claw along the gnarled patterns in the floorboard.

He had become rather bored while he was waiting for John to come out, so he decided to occupy himself with whatever activity seemed like it would be suitable entertainment. For now, that activity was running a claw along the boards underneath him, tracing the marks already there and trying to create something different from it. As he tried to create a picture from the marks on the floorboards, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about John again. John had done just like he was doing with the marks. He had taken the scattered lines of his being and created them into a new person; into the man he was now. Before he had met John, his dragon nature had left his human nature filled with hostility and an antisocial nature. Now that had all changed, and all he wanted was a chance to show John that.

Suddenly, a creaking sound invade the air; a creaking that signified the bedroom door opening. Filling with a sudden sense of hope, Sherlock lifted his head to look at John's bedroom door as it swung open. However, as it swung open, the doorway remained empty.

"John, where's your inner soldier? The one that likes danger?" asked Sherlock, trying to gently coax him out of his bedroom.

"He got left behind when the dragon showed up," came John's reply as he slowly inched into view of the doorway.

As Sherlock started to get a clearer view of John, he couldn't help himself from having his eyes bug out at the sight. He then started to chuckle as he looked at John. He was wearing at least ten different sweaters, one right over the other so he looked like a puff ball. His head was covered by a black hat so it covered his most of his unruly hair. In one hand, he clutched a cheesy spray can tied to a belt as some flimsy attempt at creating a crude weapon to serve as some form of protection.

"Are you serious?" asked Sherlock as he looked at John.

At that question, John turned the weapon in Sherlock's direction; fear consuming his eyes, making them mere shadows of what they use to be.

"Yes, I am quite serious. Now, don't come any closer to me, you hear? I'm going to the kitchen to get food and then I'm coming straight back to my room…"

John started to try to scoot around Sherlock, waving his weapon at him if Sherlock moved, causing it to clink. Between seeing John's little "dance" around him and the way he was outfitted, Sherlock couldn't contain his laughter anymore at the ridiculousness of the situation. His laughter reverberated off the walls and seemed to echo throughout the entire flat.

"Why are you laughing?" asked John as he finally paused; halfway to his destination.

"Because this is utterly ridiculous. I may have changed forms, but I'm still the same man that you have grown to know. Yet, instead of seeing this fact, you're dressing yourself up like a cotton ball and waddling about like a penguin."

Sherlock slowly rose to his feet, despite John waving the weapon at him so fast that it sent off a constant rattling sound. Sherlock focused his gaze on John when he stood, locking his eyes with his.

"I had ample opportunity to hurt you while you were passed out in front of my bedroom door, but I didn't. I saved you honestly. I warmed you up."

"You just did that so I'd be fun bait to chase later. You love the thrill of the chase. You love the game."

"John, would you listen to yourself? You're stating facts that _Sherlock _likes. You know it's me subconsciously even if you don't want to believe that truth."

"No, you're wrong! You just want me to say that so you can get close enough to hurt me."

"Fine, if you don't want to admit the truth you so obviously know, let me convince you. Lets try to sit down and eat supper together so we can talk; try to get more comfortable around each other."

John looked at Sherlock with the same fear he had had when he had emerged from the bedroom. However, this time, he actually looked a bit hesitant. Soon he shook the hesitance away though with a quick, but firm shake of his head.

"No. I am going to get food and go back to my room as previously planned."

He turned to march into the kitchen then to go get food that he needed. Upon entering the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks to think about what he was doing. Maybe he should take the suggestion and sit down to try to work through this. He was a soldier and the soldier in him was now cringing at his cowardice. He sighed as he turned back to look over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was standing in the doorway.

"Alright, I'll have supper with you so we can talk through this, but if I don't like the way things are going, I have the right to go back to my room."

"Of course," said Sherlock with a slight bow of his head. "Now, how about we see what's left in our pantry to eat, shall we?"


	7. A Trust Exercise

Chapter 7

Sherlock and John had both raided the pantry for what was left for food. It had only taken them a matter of minutes to raid what was there and generate a small pile from it. They both stood staring at it in disbelief. Both of them had naively thought that there had been more food there than what had been. John doubted that it would be able to adequately feed them even one meal.

"_If he doesn't get full off of this, he'll just eat you…"_

John immediately shook the thought away. He couldn't allow himself to dwell or think on such paralyzing thoughts at this moment. He had to give this getting-to-re-know-Sherlock thing a good, solid effort. Besides, he felt he was outfitted well enough to protect himself from him if things went south.

Sherlock moved slowly alongside John, eying the food there while he let out a thoughtful hum.

"I suppose we could always ration what we have left. If we don't count today, we only have five more days to get through before we change back anyway."

Sherlock extended a claw towards a package of hot dogs that lay idle on one side of the pile and drew it towards him. He smiled slightly as he held the speared dogs up on his claw towards John, who immediately began to retreat as if Sherlock had just brandished the world's greatest weapon. Sherlock chuckled at John's reaction, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Are you really afraid that I'll hurt you with a pack of hot dogs?"

"I wouldn't put anything past you," remarked John before snapping himself out of his fear and trying to back track, "I mean...could you maybe place them on the counter and we can cook them instead of waving them about?"

Still chuckling slightly, Sherlock obliged and slid the pack off his finger and onto the counter. As soon as it lay to rest on the counter, John slowly inched towards it. He claimed it with his hands and immediately ripped it open; his stomach growling with a new found hunger. Before John could go about the kitchen to get out a pan to cook them in, Sherlock's voice cut through the air with a halting question.

"How about we do a trust exercise?"

"Excuse me?" asked John as he turned to look at Sherlock; the pack of hotdogs lying limp in his hands for the time being.

"You heard me. Lets make this a trust exercise of sorts…"

Sherlock turned to let his gaze wander the flat. He walked over to the utensils drawer that was still halfway open and nodded his nose down towards it. John watched him perform the motion. The scared hobbit part of him told him that he was probably looking for a knife, while the rational soldier part of John told him that he didn't need a knife to kill him. John walked towards the drawer with slow steady steps, still holding the hot dogs.

"What about the drawer, Sherlock?"

"Oh bother...John, don't you see what I'm hinting at?"

"No, not really…"

"Put the hot dogs down for a moment, would you please?"

John looked at Sherlock, unsure about that action for a moment. Sherlock let out a long irritated sigh that he had seemingly kept inside himself for a good amount of time.

"Trust me, John. If you put those hot dogs down, I won't eat them all on you nor will I turn against you to eat you. All I'm asking is for you to put them down momentarily so that you can retrieve the skewers from the drawer."

"Skewers?..."

"If you even let the thought of me using the skewers against you to cross your mind, you're in for it."

John smirked at that slightly, nervously almost. He took a deep breath as he laid the hot dogs aside and waddled towards the drawer. At John's waddling, Sherlock had to keep himself from laughing again, especially as he noticed that as John approached, his forehead glistened with sweat.

"You know I won't hurt you if you decide to shed a few layers of this protective gear, or whatever it is you're calling _that_…"

John stopped in his tracks, panting a bit, not from the physical exertion, but from the layers of clothing.

"Fine...I suppose it won't help my cause by keeping this many layers on. It'll probably make me faint eventually, and that definitely wouldn't be productive towards my cause…"

"Your cause…" smirked Sherlock with a roll of his golden eyes as John struggled to shed two jumpers from his protection.

"Why are you mocking me?"

"Because your cause isn't very noble. Your cause is keeping away your best friend."

John froze in the process of shedding off yet another jumper when he heard Sherlock say the words 'best friend'.

"Wait...you are...You think I think…"

John wasn't sure how to vocalize what to say. He was in complete and utter shock at what Sherlock had just said. All this time, he had observed Sherlock's lifestyle and had realized that though Sherlock had a good many acquaintances, he never once vocalized one as being one of his best friends. Yet, here they both were, a dragon and a hobbit sharing space in the small kitchen of 221B when Sherlock had called himself his best friend.

"John?...Did I say something wrong?"

John snapped out of his daze with a quick shake of his head, pulling the third jumper the rest of the way off and setting it on the floor in a pile with the rest of them.

"I'm your best friend?..." he asked slowly as he moved to get the skewers from the drawer. Anything in an attempt to clear his mind.

"Yes, of course. I should only hope that I am yours too."

"Of course," said John rather quickly, blushing at his forwardness. He grabbed the skewers and removed them from the drawer. He laid them to rest on the counter beside the hot dogs. They needed to change the subject before this got too mushy.

"So, what do these skewers and hot dogs have to do with a trust exercise?"

"Put some of the hot dogs on the skewers and then come here."

Slowly realizing what Sherlock was meaning, he slipped the hot dogs onto the skewers.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sherlock?"

"Of course."

"But the fire alarm?…"

"I'll take care of it."

"And all the smoke?…"

"I'll open a window."

"And Mrs. Hudson?..."

"You worry far too much, John. I never knew you to be so worried. Come do a little trust exercise. I promise that it'll be good for the pair of us. This is how we'll begin to get use to each other again."

"Alright," sighed John as he carried the skewered hot dogs towards Sherlock, who had retreated from the kitchen a bit to enter a wider place to char the hot dogs. "What do I do?"

"Put some oven mitts on."

John put the skewered hot dogs down for a moment to do as Sherlock instructed, not wanting to get burned from putting his trust in Sherlock. After the gloves were on, Sherlock took a breath and released it in a small puff of smile. John watched on amazed as the hot dogs sizzled before his eyes and were cooked in an utter instant. In his gut, he knew that he shouldn't have been afraid of this trust exercise. Sherlock, even before he was a dragon, never burned him in any way. John was always treated as his equal. It was time that John placed his trust wholeheartedly in his best friend.


	8. Us Against The World

Chapter 8

They'd consumed the pack of hot dogs relatively quickly in John's opinion. Holding the skewer in his hand as he leaned back against Sherlock's side, he noticed that all remained to remind him of the hot dog's presence were small bits here or there. Sitting up slightly as his stomach rumbled barely, but yet enough that he wanted to claim the hot dog remains, he licked them away before sighing happily and settling against Sherlock again.

Sherlock smiled softly at John as he watched him relax against him once more. He knew that he had been right in instigating this trust exercise. It had helped John to realize that he wasn't a threat. John's biggest threat had been overcoming the fear he had allowed to build up in him. Now that he had let it go, he could see that he was the same man he had known, just in a different form temporarily.

"That was a good supper," commented John as he rolled on to his side slightly to look at Sherlock.

"Yes, it was." Sherlock stared back at John for a second before reaching out a talon and brushing back a strand of hair from his face gently. John didn't shrink away as he did it like he no doubt would have before. Now he was totally unafraid. He know had trust in him. That warmed Sherlock's heart completely.

John looked at Sherlock, feeling guilt gnaw at him as he lost himself in Sherlock's golden eyes. He had been afraid of a dragon, yes, but he shouldn't have been afraid of a dragon that proved to be his best friend. He had been so very foolish in being scared of him. He knew that he owed Sherlock a massive apology.

"Sherlock, about earlier when I shut myself up in my room and then re-emerged hours later with armor…"

Sherlock shook his head slightly, moving his talon away from John's face again to rest on his arms.

"Please, John. Don't worry about it. It's forgiven. You were just acting on the immediate knowledge and not allowing your brain any time to logically react."

"Why didn't you talk like this when I first encounter you? I would have known you were Sherlock right then. That was so a Sherlock statement."

Sherlock chuckled then, rolling his eyes as he watched a smile overtake John's face.

"Oh, was it now? I didn't realize my statements were something that were so easy to pick out."

"Oh please. You must know! You're always trying to use your expansive vocabulary to knock the socks off me."

Sherlock's eyes momentarily turned to look at John's bare and hairy feet.

"Apparently quite literally," he said as both of them started to laugh then.

John laid his head against Sherlock's side, humming a bit as he became sleepy. Seeing John get sleepy, Sherlock shifted to try to get up, causing John to groan and vainly attempt to wrap his arms about Sherlock's dragon body.

"No, don't move...It's warm here."

"But you're sleepy…"

"I can sleep on the floor tonight…" mumbled John.

Smiling softly, Sherlock draped one of his wings over John so that he could stay warmer and watched as his best friend's eyelids grew a bit heavier.

"John, I have a question to ask you…" said Sherlock softly.

"What is it?" asked John; sleepiness slurring his words together a bit.

"Why did you want to take socks with you when you don't wear them in this form?..."

"Just in case...never hurts to be prepared…"

"Right, right…"

"Quite a silly question, Sherlock…" said John with a sleepy smile. "And here I was…" He paused for a second to let out a yawn, "...thinking you were going to ask if I'd could go away…"

"No…" said Sherlock softly; his voice rumbling in his throat like a gentle giant. "I never would say that. You're my best friend, John, no matter what form I'm in...remember that…"

"Okay…" whispered John softly; his eyelids completely shut by this point.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock whispered as he watched John's breathing even out and the skewer fall limp in his hands, falling to the floor.

Sherlock fell asleep shortly after John, curled protectively about his best friend's body, ready to protect him against the world.

* * *

The next day seemed to fly by the two of them relatively quickly. They wiled away the hours by playing games with one another. Now that John was no longer afraid of Sherlock, the two of them would play childish games of hide-and-seek, or even a rousing round of deductions. No one came by to call upon them, (just as it had been all week per Sherlock's orders), leaving the two of them completely alone to enjoy one another's company.

As the sun set that evening, Sherlock wandered over to the curtained window and pulled it back slightly to watch the sun disappear behind the buildings, casting their elongated shadows across the ground. John was currently slouched upon the sofa, throwing a hacky sack up at the ceiling. He had discovered the hacky sack in the closet during one of the rounds of hide-and-seek earlier in the day and now seemed completely fascinated by it.

"I have an idea on what we should do this evening," piped up Sherlock, letting the curtain fall back into place.

"Oh? And what might that be?" asked John as the hacky sack came to rest in his hands once more.

"Lets go for a flight about London," suggested Sherlock, smiling mischievously; the very suggestion making his blood pulsate.

Hearing the suggestion, John sat bolt upright on the couch and stared at Sherlock incredulously.

"You can't be serious? That isn't a good idea at all! We could get caught! People could see us!"

"Nonsense," said Sherlock, allowing his wings to fan out slightly in an attempt to stretch them. "I'll just fly up higher so that the night consumes us."

John chewed his lower lip as he looked at Sherlock. He had to admit that the idea of flying about on a dragon's back at night in London was not only terrifying, but exciting as well. The logical part of him was telling him to refuse Sherlock's suggestion and help to brainstorm an alternative, while the impulsive, adventure seeker in him was telling him to take a worthwhile risk. Sighing, John slowly rose to his feet, dropping the hacky sack by his feet on the floor.

"Alright," said John with a small smile. "Lets do it."

Sherlock, happy that John was on board with his idea, smiled widely at him.

"We'll just wait another hour or so until it's darker," said Sherlock. "Then we can take a flight."

John nodded, trying to shut the logical part of him up. What was the real harm in one flight about London? What were really the odds of anything bad happening?

If only John had listened to the logical side of him. Yet once more, it was tuned out and pushed aside, leaving both of them to face what was to come of their actions.


	9. A Flight of Fright

**AN: Sorry it took so long to update. I do realize that this chapter is shorter than previous ones, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Thanks for waiting and sticking with it! :) **

* * *

Chapter 9

About another hour had passed before the two of them were standing on the roof of the building that housed their humble abode. John was bundled in coats, having felt the chill from the night before they had even stepped out on to the roof. He watched Sherlock move about in front of him, flapping his massive dragon wings as if he were warming them up before their daring flight. John took small steps closer to the edge of the roof, casting his eyes downward to look at the blackened windows.

"Sherlock, what if not everyone is asleep?"

"John, we can't ever guarantee that everyone in London will be asleep. I sincerely doubt anyone will be watching out their windows this late at night. Besides, I'm going to be flying us up high and any cloud cover there should cover us from sight."

"Uh huh…" muttered John as he crossed his arms across his chest; a shiver rushing through him. "Have we finally lost our marbles?"

Sherlock swiveled his head slowly to look at him as a small smile graced itself upon his face.

"Yes. I believe we have. Now," Sherlock laid himself out on the roof, arching his back at a slope so John would have an easier time clambering onto his back, "Hop aboard and lets go on that flight."

Shaking slightly, not from fear of Sherlock, but from fear of this adventure they were about to embark on, John took carefully measured steps toward Sherlock. He uncrossed his arms and reached up to grab a slight hold on some of Sherlock's scales to help him climb up onto his back. Once Sherlock felt John on his back, he stood to his feet, jostling John slightly and scaring him.

"We're going to die…" John muttered as he wrapped his arms as best and as tightly as he could around Sherlock's massive neck. John buried his face into the warm red scales as a soft chuckle swept through Sherlock's body.

"We aren't going to die, John...Please trust me…Just hold on."

John could hear the leathery flapping of Sherlock's wings as he gathered wind under it and launched them off the roof into the chill of the London night. As John felt the wind rush past his face as they soared higher into the sky, he clung tighter to Sherlock's neck, pressing his face further into his scales.

"How do you like it John?" asked Sherlock after he got them higher in the sky and leveled out.

"We're going to die!" squealed John; his hands digging into Sherlock.

Sherlock chuckled again, allowing his wings to fan out straight to let them drift, making his wings act like two airplane wings.

"Calm down. We aren't going to die. It's not like I'm doing a 360 loop like this…"

Sherlock angled his body sideways slightly and whipped his wings in a quick circle, causing another small cry of fear to emit from John's mouth. As Sherlock leveled out again, John sassed him.

"That wasn't funny, Sherlock."

"Sure it was. Now stop fearing this and open your eyes, or I shall do it again…"

John took a deep breath, and still clinging to Sherlock's neck, allowed himself to open his eyes. Once his eyes were open, they only continued to widen. The view from where they were was absolutely stellar. All of the usual buildings that John was use to seeing on ground level all looked like tiny dots, highlighted only by a few lights on in flats and pole lamps that lined the sidewalks. Cars and cabs that drove along the road with their headlights appeared like fireflies; their lights blinking in and out of view as they wound around corners.

"This is beautiful, Sherlock…" John whispered.

Sherlock smiled at John's comment. He was glad that John finally felt like he could relax. Sherlock began to relax more then too, taking in the spectacular view as they flew about, looking to enjoy this evening's flight.

* * *

He'd been watching the flat for weeks, and had noticed that for the last few days, neither Sherlock Holmes or John Watson had emerged from 221B into the light of day. He had absolutely no idea why they were holed up, and grew restless and bored with each passing day. Tonight was no different. He sat reclined in a chair, legs crossed and eyes towards the window that showed the semi-starry night sky. A telescope lay at an angle near the window, its scope pointing down towards the door of 221B as he waited for its occupants to emerge.

Sighing, he withdrew a cigarette from his mouth and rose from the chair. He turned sideways briefly to snub out the cigarette in the already full ashtray.

"Your life is so dull now…" He muttered as he slowly walked towards the window to look out the telescope again.

He swept the scope over the door first, seeing that it still had yet to open. Growling and cursing under his breath, he was about to move away from the telescope and sit down again when a movement near the top of the sky caught his attention. He gripped the telescope in his hands and swung the scope to look skywards, watching as what appeared to be a massive red dragon landed on the roof. His jaw dropped open slightly as he watched a smiling man slide off the dragon's back; a man that look liked John. A small smile crossed his face then as he began to draw conclusions in his mind, figuring that the dragon must be Sherlock. Though he was having a hard time allowing himself to believe in the existence of dragons, he knew what he had to do now. He walked back to his chair, grabbing up a British Army Browning L9A1 and tranquilizer gun that lay beside the ashtray and tucking them into his belt.

"It's time for me to go catch a dragon…" James Moriarty said with a sly smile as he turned to walk out the door.


	10. Down A Dragon

Chapter 10

John had been peacefully sleeping the night away after their flight when he woke from the cold. To John, this was odd. It wasn't odd in the fact that he was cold, but in the fact that the warmth of Sherlock's dragon body was no longer there; there was no more wing to cuddle under like a blanket. Opening his eyes to gaze about the darkened interior of the flat, he tried to seek out Sherlock. It wouldn't be that hard to miss him, but he wasn't there all the same.

"Sherlock?..." He asked as he slowly moved to stand, squinting as he cast his eyes about.

Nearby on the floor lay a letter; a letter that was written by a foreign hand. He knew that Sherlock hadn't written it. He wouldn't be able to write anything in his dragon state. As he bent to pick the letter up from the floor, he felt a bad feeling run throughout his body. No one had been in the flat aside from the two of them since this all had happened, and seeing that letter proved that that statement was now wrong. Someone had been here. This letter was new. With a trembling hand, he clutched the letter tightly and walked into the kitchen where he could turn on a light to be able to read it.

He laid the letter on the kitchen's island before turning and flicking on a light; eyes widening when he saw the initials 'JM' lazily scrawled across the bottom. He knew _exactly_ who that letter had come from even though he would have rather gone on pretending that he didn't.

_You seem to be down a dragon. Such a shame. He's a lovely stubborn thing, though tranquilizer darts serve well to sooth him into a state of calm. He was a heavy bugger to get out of your flat, but I have my methods. You slept so heavily that I didn't even need to use the darts upon you. You didn't even notice I was in the flat. This letter will be your only knowledge of my presence. As for the dragon, you won't be seeing him again. I'm sure you already figured that out. I'm not one to share my toys. Have fun being one dragon, and detective, short, John. _

_JM _

The first read through the letter had been in sheer panic. A thousand alarms seemed to go off in his head over and over again; playing him worse scenario cases instead of allowing him to think things through in a logical manner. He forced himself to calm down reading it through a second and third time though. So Moriarty had put two-and-two together and figured out the truth. He hadn't been worried about such an outcome until now. He thought that they had both done relatively well at staying concealed during this time and hiding their secret. It wasn't until the risky flight tonight that John had been worried, and this letter proved him to be right. The part of him that wanted to rub in that fact soon died away though. This wasn't a matter to be proud about. His best friend was in trouble, and he had absolutely no idea how to save him.

"Well, I'm...I'm sure once Sherlock wakes up and the effects of the tranquilizer darts wear off that he'll be able to escape...I mean, he's a dragon…a bloody dragon...I shouldn't have to worry about him…"

He found himself giving himself a pep talk; one in which he would be able to continue hiding and staying away from the rest of the world. He was a coward as a hobbit. He didn't want to venture outside the safety of 221B. It had taken a lot to get Sherlock to convince him it was safe to go on that flight. He didn't want to go outside again. Besides, he only had a few more days until things would go back to normal. Surely everything would be okay until then.

But what if it wasn't?...Knowing James Moriarty, Sherlock could be dead or long gone before the effects wore off. Though every fiber of his being seemed to be screaming out at him to stay put, he find himself ultimately coming to the decision that he would have to go. He had to do this for Sherlock; for his best friend. He had to put aside the fact that he was afraid and that he wasn't going to be as strong as he normally was. He couldn't let his best friend get whisked away like that, especially after all they had gone through to earn each other's trust this way. He couldn't let him down.

Leaving the letter where it was, he walked towards his room and walked over to one of his dressers. He pulled open a drawer and stuck his hand down into the bottom of it, pulling free a gun that was housed there. The metal stung his hand as he held it, staring down at it as his stomach did cart wheels.

"The things I do for you sometimes…" he muttered before tucking the gun away and moving to put on some clothes that would end up aiding to a better disguise. "Don't worry, Sherlock...I'm coming…"

He found some clothes that would suit the purpose, tugging them on over the ones he already had on since he was already cold. Giving himself yet another mental pep talk, he walked towards the door. He wasn't one that was really willing to leave his home in this form, but here he was taking soft steps down the stairs. He tugged the black hat on his head down lower as he walked; the boots he had on feeling stiff and itchy on his feet.

As he descended the stairs into the crisp air outside, he was thankful that he had gotten by unseen for now. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he had just finished shutting the door when he turned right around and smacked right into someone. With a small 'ouch' leaving his mouth, he tumbled backwards onto the steps and landed on his rear. The person that he had collided with immediately began to apologize; a hand reaching down to help him back onto his feet. It wasn't until he had taken hold of the hand to stand that he realized who the man was and found all the nerves rushing back to him. The man standing in front of him was none other than Detective Inspector Lestrade.


End file.
